


...before a fall

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Series: #666foryou [253]
Category: Damien (TV)
Genre: Fallen Angels, Gen, Pre-Series, Religious Conflict, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Proverbs, chapter sixteen, verse eighteen: "<i>Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	...before a fall

**Author's Note:**

> Date Written: 19 August 2016  
> Word Count: 1304  
> Prompt: 3. "Take my hand."  
> Summary: Proverbs, chapter sixteen, verse eighteen: " _Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall._ "  
> Spoilers: Pre-series speculation and backstory. Beyond that, everything we learned in these 10 episodes is up for grabs.  
> Warnings: No standard warnings apply.  
> Series: #666foryou  
> Website: ShatterStorm Productions – Doggie Duo  
> Link to: http://bdkk.shatterstorm.net/   
> Archive: ShatterStorm Productions & AO3 only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…  
> Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> Author’s Disclaimer: "Damien," "The Omen," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Glen Mazzara, David Seltzer, 20th Century Fox Television, Fox 21, and A&E Television Networks. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Damien," "The Omen," A&E, or any representatives of the actors.
> 
> Author’s Notes: This story is quite possibly my strongest play at the religious aspects of Sr. Greta's life, as we've seen in it canon. And based on the research I was doing, I realized I've gotten a bit rusty in that part of my knowledge base, so I'll have to start working to fix that. In quoting Proverbs 16:18, I used the [ KJV version](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+16%3A18&version=KJV), because I liked the phrasing of it. And yes, the title of this story comes directly from that verse. While doing my refresher research on both [ Matins](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matins) and [ Vigils](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vigils), I also checked out the [ Canonical hours](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canonical_hours), which led me to the [ Witching hour/Devil's hour](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Witching_hour%22), and I just had to include that in my story. I'd never heard of the Devil's hour, but I liked the symmetry of its meaning, so that may be coming into play in later parts of this project.
> 
> Dedication: This is part of a series of stories to thank the phenomenal creative team of _Damien_ , both in front of and behind the camera.
> 
> Beta: theonlyspl

"You know you must do this by yourself."

Glancing up from the document I've been studying, I see no one else in the library. This isn't exactly a surprise. I am known for being more of a night owl than any respectable nun should be, but insomnia and jetlag often go hand in hand, and my superiors have had me traveling extensively to investigate so many new miracles and possessions in the past six months. If I look back far enough in my journals, I believe I will find an increase in miraculous events, both good and evil, for several years now. But the bishops and cardinals do not believe me, nor will they allow me an audience with His Holiness.

I am but a lowly researcher, and a woman at that. I have next to no power or influence within the Vatican or the Holy Roman Catholic Church. I am not of the temperament to become Mother Superior of any convent. Not unless there is a major catastrophic event, and that wouldn't be good for anyone. I have too much willful disobedience to be promoted within the research department, despite my years of experience, particularly in the field.

"You do not need them to do what you must do."

Again that voice comes from nearby, but no one is within ten meters of my position. Realistically, there is no one else up at this hour, and I know that, but curiosity compels me to check regardless. My curiosity will be my downfall, or so my mother always told me as a child. If not my curiosity, my pride… What was it she always quoted to me? Ah yes! Proverbs, chapter sixteen, verse eighteen: " _Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall._ " Perhaps my pride and curiosity are two sides of the same coin, since both have caused me to recite more rosaries and Hail Marys than I care to recount.

Memories getting away with me, I shake my head and begin searching the library stacks. Moving on silent feet, my hands stroke lightly along the shelves at shoulder height. The temptation to stop and pull out a favorite tome to reread is strong, but the curiosity to know whether or not I'm alone is stronger. It takes the better part of an hour to circle the library, but no one else is in attendance. Returning to my table and my documents, I am startled to find someone sitting across from my spot.

She is an old woman, dressed head to toe in black. For a moment, I wonder if this is a newly transferred nun who still prefers the full habit, but a second look confirms that her head covering is closer to a hijab than any wimple I've ever seen. Short, silvered locks curl out over her forehead and back up to cover the upper edge of her headscarf. Hands gnarled with arthritis and age are clasped together on the surface of the table, nails clean and trimmed neatly. For a moment, I wonder if this woman is from one of the Eastern Orthodox churches, but instinct tells me this is also an incorrect assumption. When she glances up, the hooked beak of a nose is more pronounced, as are the wiry brows that match her hair. But it's her eyes that draw me in: piercing hazel eyes that speak of untold wisdom and promises.

"Greta, at last we meet," she says as I return to my seat. She makes no moves to shake my hand, and instinct tells me she won't tolerate initiation on my part in this instance.

"My apologies, but I was under the assumption that I was alone in this library. At this hour of the night, most of my fellow researchers are asleep. Most of the Vatican is asleep at this time of night."

"But not you?"

For some reason, her question feels almost intimately teasing, as if she already knows the answer before I can give it. This makes me vaguely uncomfortable. "I have been traveling a great deal recently on business for His Holiness. My circadian rhythms haven't fully reset themselves yet, I fear."

"It was once considered important to observe the Vigils nightly. Modern followers have become too complacent, too lazy in their technological lives to pray the Hours appropriately."

What an odd thing to say. Her easy laughter, sounding loud and almost grating in my ears, indicates that I have spoken my thoughts without realizing it. Feeling my cheeks heat up in embarrassment, I duck my head for a moment to regain my composure.

"You were brought up in the ways of the modern church, but your soul craves something different, doesn't it?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"As much as your soul may crave the old ways, your mind is rooted in this modern world. You would have less influence if the Pontiff chose to return to the old ways. You do not seem the kind of woman to willingly submit and lose all autonomy over your own life. Take advantage of the permissions you've been granted, child."

Disappointment purses my lips and I shake my head. "I am already censored for taking too many liberties beyond my position. They allow me free rein in the libraries, send me on more research missions and investigations than anyone else within the walls of Vatican City, but they don't wish to listen to my findings."

"Your findings are important, Sister Greta." Her tone is harder, more insistent, and takes on an almost sibilant quality. "The serpent slithers before the Beast, heralding his arrival."

"The Beast? The Antichrist?"

"The Beast is coming. You know this. You've seen the signs for some time now, haven't you?"

"They won't listen to me when I try to tell them."

"Men in power despise giving up that power, so they choose to silence the opposition that would wrest it from them. The coming ascension of the Beast will remove the power of the Church, and they don't wish for that to happen."

Frowning, I study my clasped hands in front of me, then lift my eyes to meet her gaze. "How do I get them to listen to me?"

"They will not. Only the inevitable will make them see the truth of what you've tried to tell them, and by that time, it will be too late. You must champion the fight, Sister Greta. You must do God's will to stop the Beast from rising to his throne. Are you strong enough to battle past the patriarchal barriers to do what your heart tells you is the right thing?"

"I was Chosen by God as a child to do His work. If this is what I was Chosen to do, then this is what I will do."

She smiles at my words, the expression taking on the rictus of the dead, and holds out her hand. "Take my hand, Sister Greta, and begin your work."

Without hesitation, I take her outstretched hand in mine, gasping at the fire of recognition blazing through me. " _Adsume, Domine_ ," I murmur, eyes closing at the sensation of Holy Presence near me. "I am but a willing servant to do Your bidding."

She laughs again and squeezes my hand harder, pain now fighting with joy until I am consumed by it.

And in the space between one heartbeat and the next, the sensations stop and I am once again alone in the library. A glance at the clock on the wall shows that it is the Devil's hour, and a shiver of icy dread oozes down my spine.

"What have I agreed to do?" I ask, performing the Sign of the Cross. "Holy Father, guide me in this most troubling hour."

But once again, I am met with only silence.


End file.
